


A Little Bit of Serendipity

by stephrc79



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward first dates, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, I volunteer as tribute, M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, and wonderful, it's painful, no seriously, the most awkward first date in history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: Steve Rogers loves his best friend, Bucky Barnes. No, okay, like, really loves him. Pined for a year - the whole of their friendship, actually - and it's been totally one-sided.Or maybe not so one-sided. If the most awkward ask to end all asks is anything to go by. Too bad Bucky's weird behavior doesn't improve when the big Holiday Date Night finally rolls around. But, see, there's a reason for that. Too bad Bucky won't clue him in there, either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Remembered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remembered/gifts).



> This is a gift for the Stucky Secret Santa 2016, for the lovely [meeptastic](http://meeptastic.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM YOUR SECRET SANTA, YA FILTHY ANIMAL!  
> ~~~~
> 
> NOTE: Chapters are going up once a day. Happy Reading!

Steve liked being in the zone.

More to the point, he liked it when the marketing department actually gave him something creative to work on — something that got the juices flowing, where he had to do more than ‘change this font’ or ‘pick a new background’, or worse ‘can you just make this one change that should only take you ten minutes’ when in actuality it was more like a couple of hours.

He loved being a graphic designer, even more so when he actually got to, you know, _design_ things.

And despite the fact that Natasha’s team had handed over a brand new campaign only a _week and a half_ before Christmas, Steve had to admit it was an exceptionally cool one — one that needed some truly inspired artwork — and Steve was in _the zone._

Or at least he _was_ until a hundred and eighty pounds of beautiful lean muscle, soft brown hair, and the most piercing blue eyes Steve had ever seen, plopped down into the chair next to him. He jerked at the sudden intrusion, his eraser tool skittering across the screen, leaving a horrendous gash in the coffee cup he was editing.

 _“Shit,”_ he muttered as he went to undo the carnage (and valiantly ignored the way his heart tripped double time). Then he turned and scowled at the man, who really, there should be a name for the color of his eyes, but there wasn’t. And Steve should know, he was an _artist._ He knew all the colors. “Buck, why do you always do that? It’s like you live to harass me.”

Bucky Barnes, Public Enemy #1, just smiled that wolfish smile of his — the one that _did_ things to Steve. (There should be a name for that too.) “S’not my fault you have the spatial awareness of a Times Square tourist, buddy. I’m just being me. The fact that you can’t hear me coming sounds more like a personal problem.”

Steve gasped, and jabbed a finger at his hearing aid. “I’m _deaf,_ you dick.” He tried to look affronted, but truth be told, it wasn’t the most offensive thing Bucky had said to him that week. Hell, it wasn’t even as offensive as some of what _Steve_ had said that week. That was just how they rolled. Sass and assholery.

He swatted at Bucky, a slight electrical current at the contact. “Swear to fucking God, I’m gonna put a bell on you.” He nodded at the office next to Natasha’s. “Let T’s cat chase you around for a while.”

Bucky scowled at the closed door and absently rubbed the back of his hand. “Fuckin’ _hate_ that cat.”

 _“Everyone_ hates that cat.”

“That thing’s too big to be just a house cat,” Bucky said, eyes still on the door. “There’re bets going on down in the lab that it might be part panther.”

“There’re bets, huh?” Steve bit back a smile. “Those bets wouldn’t be between you and Tony, would they?”

The look Bucky gave him was just a little too knowing. “I’m not at liberty to say. Lest the cat goes missing. Temporarily, of course.” He nodded solemnly. “Plausible deniability and all.”

Steve nodded back, just as slow. “Makes perfect sense.”

“Course it does.”

They smiled at each other, Bucky totally oblivious to the way it made Steve’s heart sink just a little bit further. He loved Bucky’s smile, loved the way it made his eyes light up, and the way he seemed to hold a particular one just for Steve. But, at the end of the day, they were just friends. Had been since right after Steve had started here and a bunch of people from the company had invited him out for drinks. He and Bucky had bonded over copious amounts of whiskey, baseball, a love of James Bond movies, and favorite childhood memories — Bucky’s parents’ surprise trip to Disney World for him and his sisters for his tenth birthday, Steve and his mom’s Christmas Serendipity tradition (before she’d died), including the one year she’d gotten the staff to let them come in at closing because Steve had been too sick to be around people that holiday season — and they’d been best pals ever since. Hung out at least a few times a week, and had lunch together pretty much every day.

But that was it. Every once in a while, Steve thought _maybe_ Bucky had a feeling or two for him in return — like now, with all the smiling — but nothing had ever come of it. Steve had eventually chalked it up to wishful thinking on his part, and resigned himself to being one-sidedly in love with his best friend for the rest of his life.

He could do it. He was just stubborn enough try.

He eventually shoved Bucky on the arm. “So why are you up here anyway? I thought Tony locked all you tech nuts in the dungeon, only letting you out for meals and yard time.” He glanced at his phone. “And by my calculations, you’re smack dab in the middle of both.”

“Oh, well, uh...” Bucky’s smile wavered and he gave a little shake of his head, some of the strands pulling loose from his bun. The smile he plastered back on didn’t bother at all to reach his eyes. “I was just, um, running some prototypes upstairs. Thought I’d stop by.”

“That’s it?’ Steve asked, never one to beat around the bush. Bucky’s shift in mood was making him nervous. So was the way Bucky had decidedly _stopped_ looking at him.

“Is what it?”

Steve glanced around. “I mean, is that the only reason you came up here?”

“What? Yeah, I mean — yeah.” Bucky stuttered, and there went the smile completely. Then, for some reason, he zeroed in on the Captain America action figure standing tall next to Steve’s monitor, his mouth twisting around. “You know, Steve, I get the love for Cap, I really do. But no one’s gonna take you seriously around here if you keep leaving toys on your desk. You’re not a fucking child.”

Steve just stared at him, dumbstruck, absolutely _no_ idea how to respond to that. Bucky had just been joking with him last week that Steve’s desk felt incomplete because he didn’t have the Winter Soldier action figure to go with it. Some crack that, like the two of them, you couldn’t have one without the other. Where the hell was this coming from?

He felt like he was spinning through vertigo, Bucky’s mood swing like a free fall. One minute they were joking, the next Bucky was spitting at the world (i.e. Steve), and Steve had no idea what had happened to cause the shift.

“Hey, Buck, is everything okay?” He reached out only to pull back at Bucky’s flinch. His heart shuddered at the sudden realization that maybe _he_ was the reason Bucky was upset. So instead he just folded his hands in his lap and tried to make himself small. “Did I do something wrong?”

Bucky, who’d never stopped scowling at the action figure like he was going to pick a fight with it, jerked his head around. “What? No. You didn’t” — he shifted in his chair, uncomfortable — “I didn’t...” He grunted and stood up, Steve’s head snapping up with him. Bucky loomed, his face sullen and drawn, and if things were different, Steve would be on his feet, wrapping Bucky up in his arms. But things weren’t different, and Steve didn’t move from his seat.

Bucky shifted from foot to foot. Then he clamped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong, buddy. Just havin’ a weird day.”

“O-okay.”

And with that Bucky was gone, probably back downstairs, because Tony was insane, and Bucky was his right-hand man, and the head of R&D always seemed to stop functioning whenever Bucky was out of the lab for too long.

Steve sank back into his chair, his chest tight. It reminded him of being a kid, before the two heart surgeries. Back then, he would have called for his mom. Now, he had no mother to call to, but what he did have was the nursings of an aching heart.

What had he done, what had he said? Had he slipped up? Maybe Bucky had finally figured it out, and was putting distance between them. After all, despite how solid their friendship seemed to be, they’d really only been friends for a year, and in the whole of that time, Steve had been harboring feelings for him. Maybe Bucky had just finally caught on and needed to get away.

He’d just asked a simple question. Was it _how_ he'd asked? Had he given himself away? He’d always worn his emotions on his sleeve, and honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was something small that gave him away. It reminded him of the saying his mom used to use: _Steve, you lie about as well as an open book with a broken spine._

The double entendre had never been lost on him. Neither had the oxymoron.

He was still having an internal freak out when suddenly, there was Bucky, looming over him again, and he swore where his knee slammed against his desk.

 _“Jesus.”_ He rubbed at the sore spot and glared at Bucky, who was just _standing_ there, not saying anything, and breathing through his nose like some freaky serial killer. “I really am putting that fucking bell on you, I swear to God.”

_“Doyouwannagooutonsaturdaynight?”_

Steve’s hand came to a screeching halt, frozen as he was. “I’m sorry, _what?”_

Bucky breathed in deep and took a step back, an inch more of space between them. “Do you —” He shook his head, a sharp movement. Breathed in again. Finally met Steve’s eyes, steady this time. “Do you maybe wanna go out with me on Saturday night?”

Steve felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Well, _that_ wasn’t... What?

He suddenly had a realization that maybe probably he’d never understood anything ever in his life. He wondered if the moon landing was real. He wondered if the earth really was round. He wondered if two plus two actually equaled four.

“So, wait...” He had to fight from adjusting his hearing aid. Because no way Bucky meant — “You mean, like a date?”

“Yeah.”

(Steve still wondered if he’d heard right over the roar in his ears and the thundering of his heart. Steve wondered a lot of things.)

“Like a date.”

(Yep. He’d heard right.)

“Are you — what? Yeah.” he whispered, quickly, automatically. Then he spoke up: “Sure. I’m — yes.”

“Yes?” Bucky’s eyes lit up like the sun. Huh. “Are you saying yes?”

“Saturday?”

“Saturday.”

“I’m free Saturday.”

“I was hoping.”

“So. Saturday?”

“Saturday would be perfect.” Bucky began to leave, only to stop and turn back, his cheeks flaming, lips curling in a hesitant smile. “Oh, and uh, sorry for insulting Cap. I didn't...mean it.”

“Figured as much.” Steve twisted into the same smile. “He just needs Winter by his side.”

~~~~

And that’s the story of how Steve Rogers learned Bucky Barnes maybe had a feeling — or two — for _him._

So, maybe not so one-sided after all.

~~~~

Three pairs of pants, four shirts, two sweaters, just the one pair of boots (thank God), and an embarrassing number of phone calls to Peggy for help, and yet Steve, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out how _clothes_ worked.

He glanced at the clock — just a little after four o’clock. Twenty minutes till Bucky was supposed to come pick him up, and that was when the panic kicked in. He looked at all the options on his bed, _none_ of them working in his favor.

Why were they meeting so early? Sure, the sun was setting, and it was almost night time, but that didn’t mean a date had to start the _second_ the moon was out. He needed more time to figure out this dressing himself thing!

That was it; he was just going to have to cancel. Or go in his underwear. It was the only thing he’d been able to decide on. Blue boxer briefs with black pinstripes, and the Cap shield running around the waist band, because Steve was nothing if not a huge nerd.

He closed his eyes and grabbed the first pair of pants his hand laid on, putting them on before even bothering to open his eyes. He swiveled to face the mirror. Dark blue denim; he could live with that. All the options went with them. So he did the same thing again, coming up with his cashmere burgundy sweater. It felt like butter in his fingers and was just the right side of tight — something he hoped Bucky would notice, and maybe sort of appreciate. He didn’t want all that time at the gym to be for nothing.

He put his shoes on, fixed his hair again and busied himself making sure he had everything he needed to go out. He had no clue where they were going — Bucky had been weirdly evasive about it — so he planned for spending time inside or out. But really it was all just things to keep his hands busy and take his mind off the fact that Bucky had asked him out.

_(Bucky Barnes had asked him, Steve Rogers, out on a date!)_

Steve still couldn't wrap his head around it. Sure, he wasn't unattractive, and he liked to think himself a nice guy, but this was _Bucky._ The hottest guy Steve had ever known, a mechanical engineer and inventor, and also, you know, that perfect person who liked to spend his free time at nursing homes. Joked all the time about not having a need for a relationship because he already had a bevy of ladies in his life.

 _That_ guy wanted to go out — _go_ out, not _hang_ out — with Steve.

It was at that precise moment the doorbell decided to ring, and Steve just stared at the giant ominous piece of wood separating him from what was actually probably Ashton Kutcher.

(But oh wait, _Punk’d_ had been off the air for years.)

(Probably a reboot or something.)

Steve swallowed and frog-marched himself the exceptionally long four-foot walk to his front door, fixed an easy smile to his face (this was his _friend,_ first and foremost, after all), and opened the door.

Only...

Okay, maybe a smile wasn’t the right way to go.

Bucky was standing there, arms folded tight across his chest, clenched jaw at war with the smile (grimace?) on his face, eyes refusing to land on Steve, and _just_ this side of an uncomfortable shade of green.

“Buck?” Steve asked, his own panic giving way to concern. He reached out a hand, but thought better of it. “You okay?”

“What?” Bucky looked just past Steve’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Ready to go?”

Steve held his ground. “You sure? You look like you’re gonna be sick.” And Steve hated himself for hoping it was just that and not something to do with _him._ “You sure you wanna do this tonight? We can reschedule. You know” — he shifted to his other foot — “if you wanted to.”

“I said I was fine, all right?” Bucky snapped, and Steve couldn’t help it, he took a step back. Bucky’s eyes went wide, and something in him began to loosen. His lips folded into a contrite frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I just...” He sighed and gave himself a full body shake, loosening up just a little bit more, his smile a bit softer this time. “I really wanna go out tonight. And I promise, I’m not sick. Really.”

Steve nodded slowly and grabbed his coat and keys. Bucky hadn’t exactly been smooth when he’d asked Steve out, so Steve decided to just chalk this up to nerves.

(Even if part of him still believed there was _no way_ Bucky could actually be into him. It defied the laws of God and Man.)

He shut the door and turned an encouraging smile toward Bucky.

“So where are we off to?” was barely out of his mouth before arms gripped around his waist, the wind knocked slightly out of him, as he found himself with an armful of Bucky, hugging him tight. He stood there, stunned, his own arms limp, before he finally came to his senses and looped them around Bucky’s shoulders, and hugged him back.

“Thanks for going out with me, Stevie,” Bucky murmured into his neck. “I, um, hope you have a good time tonight.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steve asked, no idea how to respond. This was _not_ the Bucky he knew, awkward and shy, and _clearly_ uncomfortable.

“I don’t know.” Bucky let go and stepped back, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could get away, looked him in the eye (as hard as that seemed to be). “Hey, Buck, it’s just me. I mean, if this is too much — or not what you _really_ want — we can just hang out. No different than normal. I mean, we _are_ friends, right? We can just...stay that way.”

(Steve would gladly like to go to his deathbed never having to admit out loud how much it hurt to say those words.)

“No,” Bucky answered immediately. “I want this. I want...I would like tonight to be a date. If that’s okay.”

(Steve would also like to go to his deathbed never having to admit how _utterly_ relieved he was to hear that.)

The tension bled out of Steve’s shoulders, and he smiled. “I wouldn’t have said yes if it wasn’t. Hey, you know me.” He bumped against Bucky’s shoulder as he steered them toward the elevator. “When have I ever done something I didn’t want to do?”

A small huff of laughter, and Bucky ducked his head, his own smile finally reaching his eyes, fluttering through his eyelashes. “Not once since I’ve ever known you.”

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that Steve eventually got a good look at what Bucky was wearing, and —

Aw, holy _hell._

Steve swallowed, his mouth dry like raw cotton. Tight black jeans, Bucky’s favorite military boots and leather jacket, and a soft white v-neck sweater that showed just the barest hint of chest hair (would it be poor form if Steve reached out to play with the curls?). His hair was pulled back and off his neck, the warmth replaced by a beautiful gray wool scarf, and all topped off by the most hipster gray beanie Steve had ever seen. He would make fun of it, if the damn thing didn’t light a fire in his belly. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous. On Bucky, it turned his hot quotient up to eleven.

( _I hope you have a good time,_ he’d said. If that wasn’t just the understatement of the year.)

Steve snorted, and Bucky ticked an eye over to him, eyebrow arched. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh — uh, nothing.” He gestured vaguely at Bucky. “You, uh...you look real good, Buck.”

Bucky smiled, a hint of that wolfishness he seemed to be famous for or something, and nodded at Steve. “You too, Steve. I like the sweater. Brings out your eyes.”

It was Steve’s turn to duck his head, his face surely the color of said sweater at this point, and thank all the gods, the elevator opened at that moment. He escaped as fast as he could, beelined for the door, and tried not to make it too obvious as he sucked in that cool, crisp air. It made him shiver.

“So, where to?” he asked as Bucky sidled up next to him. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, the flakes drifting down, lackadaisical. Steve secretly hoped they weren’t heading to dinner and a movie, or something equally indoors. He loved being out in the snow.

“Well, um, I have a few things on the list. Is that okay?”

“Sure! I mean, I’m down for whatever.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Rogers.” Bucky looked up, frown twisting up his face. “It’s freezing and it’s snowing, and I _had_ planned on us being outside for most of the evening, but...”

“No!” Bucky started and Steve gave his arm a squeeze. “I just mean, I’m fine with being outside. I love the snow.”

“Good.” Bucky gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Let’s go.” He quickly turned toward the subway, and it was all Steve could do to keep up.

They rode in silence, one that stretched uncomfortably the longer they sat there, heading deeper south into Brooklyn. Steve kept opening his mouth, trying to start a conversation, but for probably the first time ever, he couldn’t think of a single thing. Conversation usually flowed so easily between them, but not now.

They hopped off in Dyker Heights, and Steve couldn’t help the excitement brewing inside. No one did Christmas lights like Dyker Heights, and he hadn’t been able to head down once this entire season. He’d been complaining about it just the week before.

He nudged Bucky’s shoulder, tripping slightly as he tried to keep up with Bucky’s power walk. He tried to smile at him. “You remembered?”

“Remembered?” Bucky blinked at him. “Oh. Yeah. You said you hadn’t seen the lights, yet. I mean, I saw them a couple weeks ago, but.” He shrugged. “You hadn’t, so.”

“Wait, what?” Steve had no idea what the deal was, but he had to practically skip to keep up with Bucky. “You’ve seen them already? You didn’t tell me that. We don’t have to go, you know. We can do something else.”

“You haven’t seen them, yet,” Bucky repeated, and that was it. That was all he said, just kept marching forward. Steve did what he could to keep up with him, even if he was a tinge hurt that Bucky hadn’t told him. They had _literally_ been talking about it the week before, and not one word. Steve didn’t know what to make of that.

They rounded a corner, and all thoughts flew out of his head as one of the houses came into view. Bright wreaths, stunning snowflakes, candy canes, a train around the base, Santa’s village, a nativity scene, and thousands of lights that twinkled in and out in time to the music playing. It was unreal.

Dyker Heights was famous for streets and streets and streets of houses that all participated in light displays, but it was a particular set of three streets that were the most well-known — yet, this house was nowhere near any of that. They were still almost a mile off from the rest of it, and yet here this singular house stood, in all it’s Christmas glory, and Steve was mesmerized.

 _“Wow.”_ It was all he could think to say, frozen as he was, stock still, across the street, so he could get a good look at the whole thing.

“Yeah, I saw this and thought you’d like it.” Bucky brushed up against his side. “It’s the best one this year, so I figured we’d stop here before heading into the city.”

That snapped Steve out of his reverie. “Wait, we aren’t going to see the other houses?” He checked the time on his phone. “I mean, it’s barely 5:30.”

“Well...” Bucky shrugged and glanced back from where they’d just come from. “I had plans, and this was kind of a last minute add on.”

Steve huffed out a laugh, puffy in the snowy weather, and took Bucky’s hand. Bucky looked at their hands, but didn’t pull away, and Steve breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Plans can change, Buck, come on.” He gave them a little shake. “Show me the rest of the lights?”

Bucky glanced back one more time. “All right.”

Steve smiled, tried not to read too much into Bucky’s reticence, and then dragged him across the street so he could take a million photos. Afterward, they headed out toward the more prominent houses and lights, where several streets were shut down for all the foot traffic.

The homes really were a sight to behold. There was nothing like Christmas in New York, but there was something to be said about this small, upscale suburban neighborhood near the southern tip of Brooklyn that took house decorations to an entirely different level, calling in professional light decorators (because, apparently, that was a thing), and making each and every home feel like Clark Griswold got his hands on the house for the season.

There were homes of dancing snowmen, twinkling forests, and giant trees out front. There was even one home that hung strips of lights to make up for the missing leaves on their weeping willow. It was beautiful.

Or would have been, if not for the way Bucky wouldn’t stop fidgeting. There was small talk sure, and they took photos of each other — and with each other — in front of a few of the houses. But it wasn’t lost on Steve the way Bucky wouldn’t stop checking his phone — the way he kept trying to smile, but each one was just a little more wan than the last.

Well, Bucky _had_ said he’d had a plan.

“Sorry if this disrupts the evening,” Steve said at one point, leaning in close to be heard over the din of people strolling from house to house. “I really appreciate you changing whatever your plans were for this. It really is one of my favorite things.”

Bucky mumbled something and Steve tapped his bad ear in response. “I’m sorry, what?”

Bucky side-eyed him, gave him a little half smile. “Oh, I uh, wasn’t actually trying to say that out loud.”

“Say what out loud?”

Even among the Christmas lights, Steve could still see Bucky’s cheeks turn pink. “Um... ‘these are a few of my favorite things.’ You said ‘one of my favorite things’, and my brain just...went there.” Then he inexplicably pulled his scarf up to hide half his face. Steve just laughed and gave his hand a gentle tug.

“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” It was true, and Steve wasn’t going to blow his chance at a date with Bucky by being shy about how he felt. At least, for this, he was rewarded by Bucky pulled the scarf up to cover his face entirely. Steve counted it as a win.

“You’re such a dork, Rogers,” Bucky commented, muffled from behind soft wool. Steve curled his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and gently pulled the scarf down until he saw that unnamable blue staring back at him.

“If I’m a dork, I promise, you made me this way.”

 _“Wow.”_ Bucky blinked at him before dropping his hand, and the scarf, away entirely. “I _cannot_ believe you just said that.” He shook his head and turned back to an animatronic Santa. It reminded Steve of the characters from Chuck-E-Cheese. “Yep. _Definitely_ a dork.”

Steve laughed, easy, hoping this was a turning point for the night for them. He took Bucky’s hand again and turned them up the street toward the next house, only to be pulled up short.

“We should really get going. I mean” — Bucky glanced back down the street — “I had a plan and all.”

Steve wanted to protest. He wanted to say that he didn’t _care_ what they did, so long as he got to spend time with Bucky. That all he ever cared about was the moments he got with Bucky. He had no idea where his easy-going, sweet, funny, _talkative_ friend had gone, but even if it was just sitting around eating pizza and catching up on whatever games they’d missed that week (a typical Saturday for them), then he would gladly give up whatever this grand plan was to have the person he’d fallen for back.  

Instead, he nodded back the way they’d come. “You did say that, yeah. So let’s get on with your plan.”

Bucky nodded, pleased, and turned them toward the subway. Steve sighed. So much for a turning point.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride into the city was just as quiet as the ride down, save for the one time they changed trains. Steve wanted to ask him how work was going, how his day had been that day, what his plans were for Christmas, for New Year’s. Hell, he knew half the answers to those questions already, but anything to break past the way they just glanced at each other, half smiles and just, Jesus, _total silence._

When they reached 42nd Street, Bucky announced a quiet, “We’re here,” and made his way off the subway, barely waiting for Steve to follow. They wound their way through the crowds and out onto the street near the New York Public Library. Steve’s hurt at Bucky’s somewhat distracted, surly attitude slipped away in the face of excitement at the Winter Village at Bryant Park, just behind the library, right where they’d exited onto the street. A beautiful little set up, with a gorgeous tree, ice skating, and a pop-up bazaar made for the perfect holiday outing, and yet _another_ thing Steve hadn’t had a chance to experience yet.

“We’re going here?” Steve asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. He smiled wide. “I haven’t been yet.”

Bucky gave what was slowly turning into the evening’s trademark, wan half-smile. “I know, you told me. Thought we could check it out.” He glanced at his phone. Again. “I mean, we don’t have as much time as I’d hoped, but I think we could still manage.”

“Buck, is there something going on tonight that we _have_ to get to?” It was the only explanation Steve could think of. “I mean, are we on an _actual_ timetable?”

“No,” Bucky answered, too-quick, with a shake of his head. “I mean, yeah, we’re in the city that never sleeps, but I’m sure _some_ of the things I was hoping to get to tonight have stopping points. I don’t want to keep you out until three in the morning, or something.”

(Steve clamped down really hard on vocalizing the idea that he didn’t mind if Bucky kept him out all night, because it just seemed crass. And desperate. But mostly crass. Mostly.)

“Well, unlike _some_ people,” Steve eyed him playfully,” I don’t have any other plans tonight. So don’t worry about when I’m supposed to be home. As long as we’re having fun, I’m down with whatever.”

(Nailed it.)

Bucky chuckled, then reached out to take Steve’s hand. It sent a shock down Steve’s spine, because _Bucky_ had taken Steve’s hand. Bucky had _taken Steve’s hand._ It was only the second initiation of contact Bucky had made all night — the awkward hug notwithstanding — and if Steve was giddy, well that was between him and his god.

They walked into the Winter Village, and Bucky detoured to a food stand for a quick bite of hot dogs and pretzels, then right to the bar in the middle, where he bought them both a spiked apple cider. It was a perfect drink for the weather, but it wasn’t the hot spice of cinnamon that was making Steve smile into his cup, but the fact that the only time Bucky had let go of his hand was to eat. Not through buying the food or the drinks, and not as they perused the stands, hawking their wares.

“Are you done with your Christmas shopping?” Steve asked as he looked over a bunch of Christmas ornaments. He still needed to get his annual ornament, and hadn’t found one yet.

“Mostly,” Bucky answered, with a shrug. He wasn’t really looking at anything, eyes just wandering aimlessly. He’d actually done that for the last several stands they stopped at. Didn’t really seem to care what each one was selling, but more like he was trying to get through one just to get to the next.

Sure enough: “Are you done, yet?” he asked with a gentle tug on Steve’s hand.

“Uh, no?” Steve had let Bucky drag him around, but this at least was a little important to him. He thumbed at the ornaments behind him. “I want to pick one out for my tree.”

“Now?”

Steve huffed in exasperation. “Yeah. Now.” He tamped down on his annoyance and turned back to the displays of ornaments painted to look like the New York skyline, but each one had a different design and the year painted on when New York had looked like that. “You can go on ahead if there’s something you were looking for; I’m not stopping you. Gonna pick one out, then I’ll come find you.”

“No, that’s okay.” It was quiet, and the sudden loss of Bucky’s grip on his hand had him turning back around. Bucky was just standing there, arms folded tight against his chest with a wary smile on his face. “I don’t mind waiting. If that’s okay.”

Steve felt bad, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “It’s fine, Buck, really. I just, you know, want to pick an ornament.” He tried to give Bucky a reassuring smile in kind, because there was _definitely_ something going on; Steve just wished Bucky would say what it was.

Bucky gave a short nod and stepped out of the booth to wait. It took another ten minutes to pick one and pay, and it didn’t escape Steve the way Bucky was _still_ repeatedly checking his phone. Every couple minutes, like he was either hoping time hadn’t moved forward, or worse, that time would speed up and get the night over with.

Steve steeled himself before walking up to Bucky. “Bucky, what’s going on? I mean, seriously, what’s up with your obsession with your phone?” Steve tapped on the offending thing that was, sure enough, in Bucky’s hand again. “I usually prefer my dates pay at least some attention to me, so really, if you don’t want to be here, I wish you’d just tell me.”

Bucky stared at him, eyes wide, before shoving his phone into his back pocket. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying — I’ll put it away.”

It wasn’t enough, though. After everything, it just wasn’t enough. He took Bucky’s wrist in hand, felt the way his pulse jumped under his fingertips. “You still didn’t answer me. Do you want to be here?” He enunciated each part, like a shot, deep in the gut. He wasn’t surprised that he felt it in his own.

“I do.” It was quick, and Steve couldn’t tell if it was honest, but it was heartfelt. Especially when Bucky flipped their hands to take Steve’s again. “I swear, I do.” Then he hung his head, several strands coming loose from the low bun, to obscure his face. “I’m sorry I’m not being a very good date; I’m usually a lot better at this. I’m not trying to screw it up, I swear. I just...”

He barked out a laugh, but didn’t go on, and Steve tucked his fingers under Bucky’s chin till those beautiful eyes met his again. “What? Tell me.”

Bucky laughed again, loud and hollow, as he glanced around. “I guess, I’m trying so hard not to screw everything up, I keep screwing everything up. Ironically enough.” Then his eyes landed on Steve. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

The whiplash in conversation twisted Steve around, and it took him a second to understand what Bucky was getting at. “Then why did you ask?”

“I’m not saying I didn’t _want_ you to say yes. I guess I just figured, after all this time, you wouldn’t.”

“But _why?”_ That was the part Steve didn’t understand. This was _Bucky._ Steve would say yes to anything, a thousand times over.

“Have you met you? You could do _so_ much better than me.”

(Well that was just...)

(Steve was pretty sure that was supposed to be _his_ line.)

He had no idea how to answer that, so he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t wrap his head around: he took action.

He pulled Bucky close, close enough to feel those lips if (when?) they ever got to that point. A little thrill shot right down his spine at both the boldness of the move as well as the surprised gasp that fell from Bucky’s mouth. “You know, they have an ice skating rink here.”

Bucky froze, then ticked his eyes toward the rink. “I know. I figured we'd have time to get to that, but —”

“You have a plan,” Steve cut in, “I know. And I ruined it by checking out all the houses. But —” Bucky opened his mouth, but Steve shook his head. _“But_ I was hoping you'd maybe chuck that and go ice skating with me?” He slipped his fingers under Bucky’s sweater to caress a thumb over his pulse point. “I'd really like it if you went ice skating with me. Please.”

Bucky shifted around, like he still wanted to protest, but eventually he settled back on Steve with a small nod and a tentative smile. “Okay.”

Steve’s own smile grew, and he pulled Bucky along to the rink. Steve offered to pay for the tickets, since he was the one screwing up some grand plan Bucky wouldn’t tell him about, but Bucky insisted. They grabbed lockers to secure their stuff, including Steve’s new ornament, and hit the rink.

At which point it became _abundantly_ clear that whatever Bucky did to stay in shape, it didn’t include anything that required coordination.

Because Bucky apparently had none.

(Steve was no Evan Lysacek, but he at least knew he could stay upright.)

Bucky had been inching around the rink, arm’s length to the rink’s edge, sheer terror in his eyes, and it was all Steve could do not to laugh. It was kind of adorable.

“You know,” Steve said as he wandered back over after a quick warm-up lap, “for a guy who always claims to be some sort of ‘smooth motherfucker’ — _your_ word-choice — I can’t figure out why you thought _this_ was a good idea on a first date. Want me to get you some training wheels?”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky scowled, even as his foot slipped. Steve snatched out and grabbed his elbow to keep him from going down. “You said that you liked to ice skate during Christmas, if you had the time.”

 _Wow._ He _had_ said that, but it had been in passing something like six months ago? Something like that.

“How do you even remember that?”

The ice under them made the Stuart Semple-approved blue of Bucky’s eyes shine brilliant, up close like this. “I remember most everything you say.”

Bucky immediately flushed red, and he gently pulled himself loose from Steve’s hold to continue his trek around the edge of the rink. Steve just stared at him, a warm sensation trickling through him, despite the cold.

The look on Bucky’s face, the words — they felt raw. Exposed. Like maybe Steve had just seen a little piece of something deep inside Bucky. The entire evening had been weird and uncomfortable, but as much as Steve had been blaming Bucky, maybe he was at fault too. Bucky _had_ been the one to ask him out, not the other way around, despite the fact that Steve had been pining after the guy since the word Go. Steve had no idea how long Bucky had wanted to ask him out — he’d never shown any sign that he was even _interested_ — but still... He’d been the one to man up, had been the one to plan an evening for them. Steve needed to put in more of an effort.

Bucky was halfway to the other side when Steve finally snapped out of his own head and took off after him. He slowed just long enough to secure a grip around Bucky’s waist, and pulled him away from the wall.

“Steve, what —” Sure enough, Bucky slipped, but Steve held on and kept him upright. Bucky’s grip on Steve’s wrists was bordering on vise-like. _“Steve._ I’m gonna fall.”

“No, you’re not.” Steve brushed his lips against Bucky’s ear, and whispered, “I won’t let you.”

Bucky visibly swallowed, and Steve could just make out the way his eyes were darting all over the place. “You promise?”

“I promise, if you go down, I go down with you,” Steve amended. “No matter what, I’m not letting go of you. Now follow my lead.”

He took them on a slow trek around the rink, careful as anything, as he gave Bucky instructions on how to make skates work. It took a few laps, but eventually it became less _pushing_ Bucky along, and more them skating together. It was stilted and clumsy (a lot like their evening had been, ha), but it was progress.

They stayed on the ice for almost an hour, and for the first thirty minutes, Bucky _finally_ started to open up. He was laughing at Steve’s joke’s, making his own, and just being more like... _himself._

(Turned out, Bucky had fallen and broken his arm while ice skating when he was six, and had avoided rinks ever since. Steve didn’t know how to take it that Bucky was willing to forgo his fear for him.)

The thing was, it was really only the first thirty minutes. After that, Bucky kept checking the big Christmas clock on the back of the library, at an ever-increasing rate. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear that the new tension in his body had nothing to do with being on the ice. He’d been fine for some time.

It was just before eight — fucking _early —_ when Steve couldn’t take it anymore. Without a word, he took them straight over to the rink exit, and deposited Bucky against the railing. Bucky stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Steve, what —”

“See?” Steve cut in, short and unable to hold back the tight smile. “You didn’t fall once.”  He walked right off the ice and straight to a bench. He immediately began taking off his skates. Bucky hadn’t moved.

“Steve, seriously, did —”

“So, what’s next?” Steve cut him off again, because really? At this point, it should have been obvious what was bothering him, and he was done placating someone who couldn’t be _present_ for just _five fucking minutes._

(Okay, it really was thirty, but in the grand scheme of things...)

It was then that Steve realized his error, and got up to grab his boots out of the locker, praying he didn’t trip over the laces on the skates. The damn things were hard enough to walk in, as is. When he turned back with their stuff, Bucky was on the bench, rubbing his hands back and forth across his thighs. He was mumbling something under his breath, and he looked...nervous. Small. It frustrated the _hell_ out of Steve. If he wanted Steve to have a good time, then why was he sabotaging it at _every_ turn?

“Deaf, remember?" Steve said as he plopped back down, next to Bucky. He handed over Bucky’s own boots. “Can’t make out what you’re trying to say.”

Bucky’s answer was equally unintelligible.

“I’m sorry, what?”

(It wasn’t a snap, _it wasn’t._ )

“Was just talking to myself,” Bucky answered, slightly louder this time.

“Ah.” Steve didn’t say anything else, just went about changing his shoes. He grabbed his skates and held out his hand. “Want me to return those?” Bucky looked up at him, brows furrowed, and Steve nodded at the skates still on his feet. “Your skates.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Bucky quickly took them off and handed them over, and Steve got up to return everything, without a word.

He was just grabbing the return receipt, when, “Did you still want to go to the next place?” and he about _jumped_ out of his skin.

 _“Jesus.”_ He rounded on Bucky, who was standing right there, hands shoved into his pockets, looking contrite, yet again. It wasn’t working on Steve quite as well this time.

“Sorry.” Bucky shifted where he stood. Then he huffed out a deep sigh and looked Steve in the eye. “Look, I know this evening hasn’t turned out the way I’m sure either of us wanted, and I just figured you’d want to call it. Or I will, if you don’t want to be the ‘bad guy’, I guess. This is my fuck up, I get that.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong about this night not being what I know at least _I_ wanted.” It was definitely meaner than he meant for it to be, but he was a little bit past caring. The thing was, as Steve’s friends liked to point out _on_ the regular — Bucky included — he was stubborn. And he was also the person who always saw things through to the end. If the night Bucky had planned wasn’t over, Steve was just about ready to finish it out of spite.

He sighed and waved a hand at Bucky. “How many more places are part of this _plan_ of yours?”

“Um, two.”

“And those two would be?”

“Uh...” Bucky eyes were all over the place again, and Steve waved him off.

“Never mind, let’s just go.”

Bucky took a tentative step forward. He reached out toward Steve, only to let his arm flop by his side. “Steve, I wasn’t kidding. You _aren’t_ having any fun. I’m fine calling this. It was clearly a mistake.”

(Okay, but which _part_ was a mistake? The evening itself or asking Steve out entirely. Steve wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.)

“Well, can you tell me _anything_ about what’s up next?”

“Oh, well,” Bucky started and shoved his hands back in his pockets,” you know the light show they do on the side of Saks? By the tree at Rockefeller?”

(Duh. Of course, Steve knew it. He _was_ a New Yorker. A New Yorker who liked shiny things.)

“Well, it’s really pretty this year, and I thought you might like to see it,” Bucky finished. “You _did_ say you hadn’t been to see the tree or anything yet.”

“I did say that...”

(And Bucky remembered almost everything Steve said, apparently.)

“I thought we’d go there before we went to the last place.”

“And the last place?”

Bucky pursed his lips, eyes painfully hesitant, and huh. Maybe _that_ was it. Whatever this last place was, that might just be the catalyst.

(Dammit, now Steve wasn’t just stubborn, he was _curious._ Thanks, Buck. No really.)

“It’s fine, Buck, you don’t have to tell me.” He gave a valiant effort at a smile, though he couldn’t guarantee it was genuine. “Lead the way.”

“Are you _sure?”_

“Lead the way, Buck.”

(The walk was about eight blocks. They didn’t hold hands this time.)


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, coming to the tree at Rockefeller was definitely worth it. Standing several stories tall, right in front of 30 Rock, it was just as grandiose and beautiful as it was every year. Full and lush, colorful lights and bright ornaments, all topped by a glowing star, it was truly a sight to behold. And even though he felt like a ping pong ball, the way he kept getting bounced around by all the people, it didn’t change how much it _really_ felt like the holidays, being here with the greatest Christmas tree on the planet.

Nothing beat Rockefeller, and he’d fight anyone who said different.

Bucky had diverted them off of 5th, so they could see the tree first, before walking around the plaza — with its own ice skating rink, full of people who appeared just as clumsy as Bucky had been — and past the crystal angels to watch the show that displayed on the side of Saks 5th Avenue every ten minutes. It was an amazing tradition, here in the city, and as touristy and trappy as the area was, it was just something you had to see. At least once.

Bucky found them a good spot, just in time for the first strains of Mannheim Steamroller’s _Carol of the Bells_ to pick up. Steve sucked in a breath, because this was his _favorite_ Christmas song, and _damn,_ Bucky was right. The light show was magical, lights dancing and flashing in time to the music amidst a castle of watercolor pinks and purples, all projected onto the side of the building.

“Do you like it?” Bucky murmured in his ear.

“You knew this was my favorite Christmas song, didn’t you.” He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the show. He already knew the answer.

“You, uh, may have mentioned it at Thanksgiving. I told you my favorite this year was that new Pentatonix song, remember?”

He nodded. He did remember, actually. They’d been drunk, fat, and happy after an amazing dinner at Bucky’s parent’s house, and the two had started waxing poetic about the upcoming holiday season. It had been a stupid conversation, the two of them practically sitting on top of each other on the couch as they slurred their way through all their favorite Christmas things. It was one of Steve’s most cherished memories from this past year.

“I remember,” Steve whispered, not loud enough for anyone to hear, Bucky included. If this was shaping up to be the last time they ever hung out, he didn’t want to think about all the memories that would never shape themselves into anything more.

The moment the show ended, there was a soft brush against the back of his hand, and he looked over to find an apologetic half-smile on Bucky’s face. “Is it...is it okay if we go? We, uh, don’t have a lot of time...”

“Time for what?” The question was automatic. And just as automatic, Bucky immediately shut down. Steve shook his head. “Yeah, let’s go. We gotta wade our way through this damn throng, anyhow.”

They pushed through the onlookers and made their way up 5th, Bucky-only-knew where. Just like the walk up to Rockefeller, he kept his hands shoved in his pockets, and as annoyed as Steve was at being pulled away _yet again,_ Bucky looked so _downtrodden,_ he couldn’t stop his heart from going out to him.

It wasn’t fair. Steve had been practically in love with Bucky for what felt like eons. He knew everything about him — every thought, every gesture, it seemed like. It didn’t matter that they’d only known each other a year; it felt like a lifetime. Like they’d been in each other’s back pockets since they were little kids.

And _God,_ up until Bucky had asked him out, they’d had such an easy rapport. Talked about everything, and never shied away from anything. But, before Bucky had asked him out, _Bucky_ had been different. Steve didn’t know, nor understand, the man walking next to him.

(Maybe the man he’d been in love with was not the man he was meant to _be_ with. Wouldn’t be the first time in history.)

(Still, it broke his heart a little. Broke his heart a lot.)

They trudged along in silence, making their way further uptown. Then, just as they were passing 58th, something else ticked in the back of his head.

“Oh. Hey.” He reached out and grabbed Bucky’s arm, pulling them to a stop. He tried to ignore the way Bucky twitched under his hand, the way his eyes looked resigned, and pulled out an excited smile instead. “I have no idea where we’re going, but is it possible to make a detour over to Lexington? There’s this amazing Christmas tree at the Bloomberg building I’ve been dying to check out.” He’d seen the tree a ton of times on his Instagram feed, this beautiful tree surrounded by a ring of baby trees, all covered in about a million little blue lights that made the tree look otherworldly. It helped that the Bloomberg courtyard had an industrial feel to it, that created the most amazing contrast.

Bucky opened his mouth, only to close it and look up the street toward Lex. “Steve, we really need to get going. I can’t guarantee...”

“Guarantee what?”

Bucky huffed, through his nose, and shoved his hands further into his pockets. His jaw clenched, and while he glanced up the street again — probably toward wherever they were going — he didn’t offer anything up.

“Guarantee _what?”_ Steve griped in exasperation. The building was only three streets over. “What is it you can’t guarantee, Bucky? It would be a hell of a lot easier if you just _told_ me.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Just _tell_ me! You’ve been evasive and weird all night long, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of _whatever_ is coming up, but you won’t talk to me. You won’t give me _something_ to grasp onto, so I can at least try and sympathize with whatever it is you’re trying to do. You’ve never had a problem talking to me before. What the _fuck_ is the problem now?!”

Bucky looked like Steve had just slapped him, and some distant part of Steve’s mind felt horrendous at his outburst, but he was too irate. This was supposed to be his night too, and Bucky was _refusing_ to meet him halfway. He had a right to at least ask for that.

And yet, Bucky still wasn’t answering him. He just kept ticking his eyes up the street, not saying _anything._

Steve threw up his hands. “Jesus, forget this.” He was _so_ done. “I can’t help you, anymore. You won’t be honest with me — you won’t _talk_ to me — then forget it. You’re right; we should have called this earlier. It’s clear this isn’t working out.” He turned down 58th, and away from Bucky.

He stalked down the street, pissed at Bucky, pissed at himself, pissed at the entire night in general. He had no idea what had happened, how things had gone so incredibly sideways. It was Christmas — his favorite time of year — and it felt _ruined._ He thought he was finally going to get the guy, and have the perfect holiday, but it had all just gone to hell. And yeah, he was human enough to admit that a street went both ways, but no amount of brain-wracking helped him figure out what he could have done differently to get Bucky to be more open with him.

When he made it to the Bloomberg building, he barely checked for traffic before barreling across the usually busy street, determination to get what _he_ wanted coursing through his limbs. He walked right into the courtyard and toward the tree. Then he looked up.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

It was like having the wind knocked out of him; he’d never seen anything like it. It was so tall and full, the little trees encircling the larger one making it feel like a lush little village right in the middle of New York. And the lights... The tree wasn’t just alight, it was like it glowed from the inside out.

And it was the exact color of Bucky’s eyes. The color he couldn’t name.

Steve pressed a hand, hard, against his chest, suddenly eight years old all over again, having the worst asthma attack of his life. And as much as his lungs were fine now, for some reason, he just couldn’t get them to _work._ Couldn’t make them expand and contract, get the oxygen he needed.

What had he done? This was _Bucky._ Bucky, who was the best (and worst) thing to come into Steve’s life, maybe ever. He was Steve’s _best friend,_ could have been so much more, and Steve had just _ruined_ it.

(It made him miss his mother something fierce. Hadn’t missed her this much since right after she’d died. He needed her _so badly_ right now.)

The tree blurred in his vision, and Steve had to bite back the tears. Why couldn’t he have just trusted Bucky? Stopped being so goddamn stubborn, and let Bucky guide Steve however he wanted, get them to wherever it was he seemed so desperate to go. Because if he had, he’d be with Bucky right now, probably getting his big reveal, and maybe their night would have ended on something magical. Instead, it had died. Right here in front of the color of Bucky’s eyes.

What the _fuck_ had he done?

“I should have told you.”

Steve’s head snapped up and he spun around. Bucky was standing there, at the edge of the courtyard, those blue eyes so sad and so wary, his arms knitted across his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he went on. “I really should have just told you. I should have told you _months_ ago. I should have asked you out when I’d planned on asking you out — when I knew that you were... But I never did, and then I was under the wire, and I’ve just failed so spectacularly at every turn, and I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve managed to get out. “What were you under the wire for?”

“Well, that's just all part of the big surprise, isn't it.” Bucky scowled, his face etched in self-loathing, eyes red and shiny, and _how had things gone so sideways?_

“Buck, you don't have to tell me,” he said, resigned. “I get it. I didn't give this to you, either.”

“No, I guess you didn’t. Aren’t we a pair.”

“I’m sorry.” He almost lurched forward, but thought better of it. Just folded himself small. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Can I...?” Bucky did sway forward a little, as though Steve's backpedal had a tether attached to it. “Can I maybe still show you? I just called ahead and said we might be a little late, and they said it was fine because I... Well, I’ve been planning...”

Steve was so lost, had no idea what was going on. But that was the point, wasn’t it? He wasn’t _supposed_ to know what was going on — never was. It was a surprise, and after everything, even if his stubbornness had cost him any kind of future for them, he’d be damned if he took this one thing away from Bucky now.

He smiled, soft and reassuring this time, and held out his hand. “I’d like that, if you still want.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, those eyes suddenly so alight, they rivaled the tree behind them. He took Steve’s hand and led him out.

They strolled up Lexington, slow and leisurely this time, Bucky constantly peeking at Steve, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was there. Steve knew how he felt. His own attitude all night had screwed things up just as badly, and he couldn’t believe Bucky still came after him.

They turned down 60th, and it took a second for Steve to realize how familiar things looked. He _knew_ this street. Knew most of the little shops, the quiet brownstones, and _especially_ one location in particular.

When they came to a stop, it was like the blue tree all over again.

(He really needed to figure out how this breathing thing worked.)

Serendipity 3 had been a go-to for Steve and his ma, every Christmas, since he was old enough to understand the greatness that was ice cream. It had always been a favorite of hers, especially, and a tradition had sprung from it. It was the one night when all the hustle and bustle of the holidays came to a halt, and they took time for just the two of them. When Steve was little, they used to split a sundae, then each got their own when he was old enough. It was always a competition to see who could eat the most, even the year when Steve had been really sick (had had his first heart surgery the following February). They kept the tradition right up until _Sarah’s_ last Christmas. She’d died the following spring.

“Bucky...” He tightened his grip, and they just stood there, Steve staring at the front entrance. It had been _years_ since he’d come here. Couldn’t bring himself to go after his mom had died, and then it just became... He didn’t know what it had become.

“Do you want to go in?” Bucky asked quietly. “I mean, I’ll understand if you don’t. I should have told you."

Confused, Steve tore his gaze away to see Bucky watching him, tentative and nervous and wary, and oh.

(Oh.)

(This was the...)

He sucked in a breath and glanced down to the entrance again. But while the lights were on, Steve couldn’t make out anyone inside. “It’s empty.”

“Yeah,” Buck confirmed, “it is.”

“It’s supposed to be?”

“Do you want to go in?”

He nodded and took a step toward the door, only to steel himself. He wasn’t ready for this, was he? It had been _so long..._

(He missed his mom.)

He glanced at the door again.

(Maybe because she was in there.)

“I want to go in,” he finally said.

“Are you sure? If it’s too much, or if I missed the mark on bringing you here, I’ll understand.”

He shook his head. “No, I want to.” It was time.

Bucky nodded and gave his hand a squeeze before walking around to open the door for them. They headed in to find a young woman sitting behind the large front register. She smiled at them and stood up. “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky gave her a tiny smile. “Yeah, that’s me. Sorry for being late.”

“Not a problem. It’s your night after all.”

“Still, I’m really sorry. You guys are all here...”

Steve tuned them out, stunned by what he was seeing. The place really _was_ empty, save for a couple staff members waiting patiently just inside the main restaurant area.

“Buck.” Why was it empty? “There’s no one here, Buck.”

Bucky gently squeezed his hand again. “There’s not supposed to be.”

“Yeah, but...” Steve turned to the hostess. “You guys are already closed? Isn’t it kind of early?”

She ticked a glance at Bucky. “It is, yes. We’re normally open till much later, especially around the holidays. Any other night, we’d close at —”

“Midnight.” He remembered. Then he looked back at the very-much-closed-at-nine restaurant. “That’s when my mom took me back when I was little. She took me at midnight. It was late, and I was really sick, but we had this _tradition,_ you know, and I was being so stubborn about not breaking it...”

“Steve...”

(He was so little, all over again. So little, and it was like his mom was here with him, and he _didn’t understand._ )

He turned to fully face Bucky. “It’s not midnight. Why is there no one _here?”_

“I thought maybe your first time back shouldn’t be full of rambunctious, loud families.”

“Wait. You mean this is all for us? _Now?”_

“Yeah.”

“My mom took me here.”

(Every year, she took him. Till she couldn’t take him anymore.)

“You told me.”

(Bucky remembered everything he said.)

“But it’s not midnight.” It was the only thing he could wrap his head around.

Bucky sighed, then stepped right into Steve’s space. He took Steve’s other hand and smiled. “This wasn’t supposed to be our first date. This was supposed to be my big Grand Gesture, Christmas present, I guess. From the moment I saw you at that first staff meeting, I was gone on you. _I’m_ the reason you were taken out for drinks the night we met. I wanted to know you, but I couldn’t figure out a reason to talk to you, so Natasha organized a ‘new-hire drinks night’. And after we ended up hanging out, I knew. I knew I wanted to somehow make you mine. So before I’d even asked you out, I’d called and reserved this entire restaurant for tonight.”

“Yeah, but...” Steve glanced back, the staff waiting quietly, resolutely ignoring their conversation. He turned back to Bucky. “That was almost a _year_ ago. I thought” — he shook his head — “I thought this was all one-sided. Why didn’t you say something?”

Bucky’s laugh was short and derisive. “Oh, believe me, I tried. Repeatedly. I was gonna woo you, and we were gonna be happy, and this was going to be where, I don’t know, I proposed or something, if we were there by then. But I could never work up the courage to even ask you out. And time just kept moving forward, and suddenly, it was ask you out and take you _here_ for our first date, or blow everything, and I didn’t know what to do, especially because I never bothered to weigh whether this was something you _actually_ wanted — coming back here — and I should have told you —”

Steve’s lips were on Bucky’s before he’d even realized he’d moved. A small, surprised whimper escaped Bucky, and Steve chased it, cupping Bucky’s face as arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.

Bucky had done _this_ for him, had tried to bring him back to some of the happiest times he’d ever had with his mom. One small story, and Bucky could tell how important this little ice cream parlor was to Steve. And he’d cared enough to make this as special, and as _private,_ as possible for him.

The kiss was everything Steve had dreamed about, the way they fit so perfectly together. Molded to each other like matching puzzle pieces. Bucky’s lips were chapped and cold against his own, and Steve worried at them, but held back from diving head first into probably the best kiss he’d had in his entire life, because there were people watching, and this wasn’t the time or place. Instead, he reluctantly pulled away, only to bury his nose against the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “And I’m _so_ sorry. I should have let you have this, should have let you have this night, too.” He leaned back and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Forgive me.”

_“Steve.”_ Bucky huffed and rested his forehead against Steve’s. “Please _don’t_ apologize. I’ve been an absolute disaster all night long. I was so caught up in taking you here, I didn’t let you enjoy any of the rest of it. That’s on me, not you.”

“The whole night is on both of us,” Steve offered. Bucky smiled in assent and leaned in for another quick kiss.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Steve couldn’t hold back his own smile, not now that he _finally_ had Bucky in his arms, a warm solid embrace.

“Anything.”

“Maybe next time save all the other stuff for a second date. Because this? Even if this was all we’d done, I wouldn’t have hesitated, going out with you again.”

Bucky stiffened against him, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “And now?”

It took a second for Steve to realize what he’d said, and he immediately kissed the worry off of Bucky’s face. Then stole one more because he could.

“Was this really expensive?”

“Yes. It was.”

“Too expensive to do again next year?”

Bucky finally cracked a smile. A real one, wide and honest, and reaching all the way up to those eyes of his. _There_ was the Bucky that Steve had been head over heels for. He looked so young and so beautiful.

“Not if you split the cost with me.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Steve laughed, overwhelmed and giddy, and kissed Bucky again. Couldn’t help himself. “Now that you have me, I’m not worth the big romantic gestures, is that it? This was my one and only shot?”

“Now that I have you...?”

“Yeah, Buck.” He held Bucky tight, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. Then he breathed in, Bucky’s loose hair tickling his nose, and took everything with him that Bucky was willing to give. He wasn’t fucking this up, not again. “You’ve always had me.”

(They didn’t split a sundae; they both killed their own.)

(They promised that _next_ year, they’d each get two. Eventually one of them would admit defeat.)

(Maybe when they were fifty.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now with ART! Check out this amazing piece down by the super lovely [inflomora-art](http://www.inflomora-art.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  

**Author's Note:**

> A special special thank you to [Brenda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda) for the beta. All other errors fall on me.
> 
> ~~~~  
> Feel free to come play with me on tumblr at [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I promise I don't bite. Well, not unless you ask nicely.  
> ~~~~


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